


The Soldier

by Chaerring



Category: Original Work
Genre: American Civil War, F/M, Gen, Historical, possible inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaerring/pseuds/Chaerring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman flees her house when battle comes close enough for her to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to TheGreatSporkWielder for beta-ing.
> 
> This is what happens when I watch Hatfields and McCoys almost entirely back to back. 
> 
> It was supposed to be Avengers fanfic, but it wasn't long enough and didn't have enough characterization to justify it as fanfic so...original work.

Darla bid farewell to her modesty and pulled her skirts up around her knees so she could run through the tunnel. Her bag was heavy on her chest and her mother's old iron skillet was even heavier in her hand. Running in the tight space was hard and her damned dress was restricting her breathing even more than it normally seemed to do. She gulped for air as much as she could and tried to forget the sounds of the battle that had reached her house. She had seen the smoke from the canons and gathered what she could before taking off into the hidden tunnels under her house. It wouldn't matter to either side of the fight that her family was born and bred in the South or that they had never owned slaves. She'd been warned by her father before he went to fight about lonely men and their desires.

With great relief, she burst out of the tunnel into the forest, and thankfully away from the fighting that was going on in the fields on the other side of her house. Darla tried to pretend she could no longer hear the canon fire as she tied her skirts off more securely, checked her bag, and clenched her hands around her skillet. Her father had also told her it wasn't unusual for scouts and deserters to be running away from the battles and that most of them wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of civilians fleeing from the battles for food and _other things_ , though Darla could never quite get him to explain himself. 

She sighed quietly and picked up her feet, making her way through the overgrown underbrush, glad she'd been wearing her boots when the fighting started and not any of her nice slippers. It had saved her time, and given her the chance to fill her bag with food that would last her long enough to get to Christina's. She even had a blanket, since she was likely to be unable to make it on foot before nightfall. Hopefully her friend's foreign husband wouldn't be involved in the close fighting and would offer her shelter until it was safe to return to her home. 

Something latched on to her ankle with no warning and it was all Darla could do not to scream and call attention to herself. Instead she kicked out and fell over swinging her skillet in a wide circle as she went down. Her foot connected with something softer than a tree or the ground, and it groaned, but released her. She scrambled backwards sure by then that leaves were coating her hair. Not that leaves were something she should have been worried about. Darla eyed the placed she'd been grabbed from. She was only slightly surprised to see the dirty blue sleeve of a Union coat.

The arm attached to it didn't seem to be moving again. Darla swallowed and crept forward on her knees holding her skillet in a prepared death grip.

"Hello?"

A finger on the hand twitched and she heard a voice from the underbrush where the rest of the Yankee soldier's body must have been. She can hardly hear his voice when it sounds out.

"Mary?"

She bit her lip and inched a little closer, even daring to pull back the brush covering him from her sight. The man's eyes were unfocused on anything, and the visible white of his shirt was stained red with blood. Darla's stomach rolled when she realized it all probably his own. She felt her throat tighten as she leaned over him. His other hand, the one that hadn't grabbed her ankle reached upwards towards the pieces of her hair that had fallen from her bonnet. 

"I never thought...Mary, you shouldn't be here."

Darla swallowed when she noticed for the first time the gold band on his finger. Mary must be his wife. Darla wondered if she looked anything like Mary, or if the poor soldier was simply too far gone to not know the difference. Either way, she didn't want to be so heartless as to leave him when he thought she was his wife. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that he was dying and wouldn't know the difference if she left, but she found herself leaning forward so his dirty hand could touch her hair and cup her cheek. Deciding she couldn't do it halfway if she was going to try and provide him with comfort, Darla returned the gesture laying her hand upon his cheek. 

The soldier's lips curved in a pained smile and Darla felt her stomach roll at how clammy and cold his skin felt under her hands.

"Your hand is so warm, and your skin so soft." 

A wet sounding cough interrupted whatever else he wanted to say, and Darla felt helpless when the only thing she could do was make soothing noises. His hand began slipping away from her face, but she took it in one of hers, setting the skillet to the ground, and held it in place against her cheek. 

"I had hoped...so much....too late now..."

His whole body wracked with a violent cough and his eyes closed with the force of it. Darla clutched at him wishing more than she had wished for anything in her life that she knew what his name was. He smiled again and his eyes cracked open slightly.

"It doesn't hurt anymore....I love you so much, more than anything."

Darla knew it was wrong, she wasn't Mary. She wasn't this soldier's wife, wasn't the woman he loved, but she wished she was. She wished that she had a husband that would think of her so fondly and lovingly, so she hoped Mary would forgive her when she said the words in her place.

"I love you."

His smiled spread wider and his hand went limp in hers. Darla sobbed until the sounds of the fight drew closer and forced her away from him. Before she went, though, she picked up his small bag and took the locket around his throat. If she could, she would find Mary and give it to her, anything to keep the looters from disturbing him.

It wasn't until she got to Christina's that she was able to find a small stamped leather journal in the soldier’s bag and learn that his name had been Andrew Tucker.


End file.
